Somewhere Beyond the Sea
by StudentNurseSkinsFan
Summary: X-Files fanfiction regarding Scully's issues with her father and his passing. Also features Mulder and Scully's relationship and how it was affected by the different paths they chose to take. Please give it a read and tell me what you think :)


_Somewhere, beyond the sea…_

I try to figure out where the sound is coming from. Surely it must be a coincidence?

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It's funny that this song would be playing now, when I'm trying to relax and get away from my work. I had barely been able to listen to it since we lost dad. My Ahab.

I take a sip from my drink, feeling a warmth that spread through me as the gin hits the back of my throat.

 _She's there, waiting for me..._

I turn around. I know that voice. I know that terribly out of tune singing.

 _Happy we'll be, beyond the sea…_

"Starbuck…" He says.

"No!" I scream at the top of my lungs, not caring who I disturb. Although I don't seem to disturb anyone; no-one seems to notice my outburst or the dead man singing in front of me.

"Go away!" I place my hands over my ears, shaking my head.

 _And never again, I'll go sailing._

"You're not real." I say as calmly as I can, a single tear rolling down my cheek.

My father looks into my eyes. It's him, but he's different. Colder. Emptier. He looks at me with despair, with disappointment.

"There's plenty of room in that cold, dark place for liars, Scully."

I awake with a jump, my pillow damp from perspiration. Although it's been well over a decade since my father passed, he still haunts my dreams. I still can't get used to it.

Squinting through one eye, I glance at my alarm clock. 4:30am. I stretch my arm across to the other side of the bed instinctively. Empty, of course. It's strange, that I slept alone for almost thirty years and I was happy enough. But after being recently separated from my husband of just three years, the loneliness of being alone at night suffocates me.

I pull on my dressing gown and make my way downstairs. I load my coffee maker with about half a packet of the strongest coffee Walmart has to offer, and sit down as I wait for it to filter through. I had developed a bit of a caffeine addiction recently, what with the lack of sleep due to my work, my divorce, my life being so messed up…

My mind wanders back to being on a nightshift with Mulder, sitting in a hired car together all night, waiting to catch someone out. Those times all merge into one after all these years. I remember I'd bought some drinks for us from some 24 hour café, to try and keep us at least awake, if not quite alert. When I got back Mulder had said to me, "If there's an iced tea in that bag, it could be love."

I'd tried to keep myself from blushing, but I distinctively recall being unable to suppress a smile.

"Must be fate Mulder." I said, looking him in the eyes.

"Root-beer." I informed him, as he laughed, feigning disappointment.

The connection we had back then was so strong, even right from the start. It made me ache to think about it.

I go to get my coffee, strong and black as always, and sit back down. I want to focus on my work, to get my brain in gear for another day or mind numbing, repetitive tasks: sending samples of blood and urine to get tested, examining other evidence and trying to piece together what happened to the victim, writing reports for hours on end and wanting to scream with frustration. I can't do it for much longer. I miss my old life.

That's exactly what it feels like though; another life. I knew things couldn't have continued on as they were at the time. James, whom I'd thought I loved (or tried to convince myself that I did) didn't understand why I had to spend so much time away from home, focusing on my work, often out all night or barely home for days… always with Mulder. He never asked me to stop seeing Mulder, but I knew what I had to do to make my marriage work. Sometimes people have to make sacrifices, and although losing my best friend broke my heart, it was always going to happen at some point.

It would have been too strange, too difficult to see Mulder get close to someone else. And it would have happened at some point, of course it would have. I could never have let myself get in the way of his happiness. So I distanced myself before I had to face it. I knew it was better for Mulder too, to not have to see me with James, to not have to hide his own pain to allow me to be happy.

At this time of my life though, I have never needed a friend more. Someone who knows me better than I know myself, who understands when I'm hurting without me having to admit it. I need someone who will believe things that I don't believe myself, and who will help me to come to terms with my feelings. I know what I have to do. I have always known. But when did picking up a phone, punching in a few numbers and speaking to an old friend become so heart wrenchingly impossible?

I get showered and dressed, attempting to hide the bags under my eyes. Although it sometimes feels like no time has passed since I was recruited out of medical school and into the FBI, the years have started to take their toll on me. I notice that the many years of late nights have made permanent lines around my eyes, so I never really look fully awake. My once auburn hair seems to be slowly fading, with the odd silver streak reminding me of my age. Some days I allow myself to mourn who I was, bright, intelligent, happy, trusting and youthful. A part of me still is these things, but I have seen too much for it not to have an affect on my body and mind. Today however, I let these thoughts simply wash over me.

My fingers find their way to the cross around my neck, the Saint Christopher my mother bough for my sister and I for Christmas when we were teenagers. I have never taken it off since that day, but sometimes I wonder why I still wear it. It just makes me think of more open, unanswered questions which fill my mind with doubt, and I don't have the energy to keep putting my faith in something that I can no longer make sense of.

I head downstairs again, making my way to the car. I'll be late, as always. Old habits die hard.

As I pull out my drive and glance at my rearview mirror, I feel as if someone has walked over my grave, as the sound of my own piercing scream deafens me. In the passenger seat of my car, looking straight at me, is my father. Am I still dreaming? I know I'm not. He seems to be trying to say something, but no sound comes from his lips. I blink hard but he doesn't disappear. I shut my eyes tight, still screaming, trying to block everything out. The next thing I know, I feel a loud bump as my car hits something hard, my head crashing into the window to the side of me as I feel myself lose consciousness.


End file.
